Deciduous
by Acepilot6
Summary: The Road series epic, fixed and reposted. James Pickles decides to find out all about the dysfunctional family that he calls his own, and finds out a little about himself along the way. Please read and review.
1. Strawberries and Cream are Worth Five

**To celebrate three years since I started writing it, this is the fanfic "Deciduous" as it was originally posted on ff dot net, with elements that got it pulled down removed (namely, the list at the end). Hope you all enjoy it, and consider this my return to the Road series!**

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - The Road series movie-length special. This will probably be the only time I ever write a multi-chapter Road series fic, but don't quote me on that. Anyway, it started as a bit of a nutty idea that got bashed into the form of a fanfiction across much of 2005. I started work on this in February and am only just finishing it. I know I had a few chapters posted before, but they've been re-edited and stuff, after they got taken down in the June purge. Please review!

Disclaimer - the characters in this fic are property of KlaskyCsupo, except the kids, James' classmates, Sophie, Amanda and James himself, who are mine.

---

As my father's son, uncle's nephew and grandfather's grandson, I, James Stewart Pickles, like to think that the reason whatever it is the teacher is saying is incomprehensible is because my mind is moving at a million miles an hour, so focused on problems beyond my age - inventing new pieces of marvelous technology, thinking up incomprehensible storylines, and solving math problems that would make most people dizzy.

Of course, as my mother's son and my other uncle's nephew, I, James Stewart Pickles have to face the fact that the reason whatever it is my teacher is saying is incomprehensible is because I'm bored to the point of exhaustion.

History has never much been my block of chocolate - I'm more a hands-on kind of bloke, always looking to create something, or work something out. And history allows me to do neither, so I generally enjoy the opportunity for a nap.

"Isn't that right, James?"

Mostly.

I poke my head up. "Yessir?"

Max raises a greying eyebrow at me. "No, sir. It was completely wrong."

"From your point of view," I argue, sitting fully in my seat and reaching behind my head to crack my knuckles and stretch. My back gives a satisfying click.

"So the Nazi's didn't control Northern France in 1942?"

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. This is why daydreaming in History is the pastime of the humiliated.

"Well, not necessarily. Some would argue that the Nazi regime in France was corrupted by the relentless threat of Vichy France rebelling, thus the sovereign nation in the south was really in control."

Max smirks and shakes his head. "Nice try James, but sorry."

I shrug and kick back in my seat. Max sighs and returns behind his desk. "Alright, year 12s. The end is nigh. So do you know what we're going to do?"

"Party?" Alex offers from two rows over.

Max flashes him a toothy grin. "Strike one, Mr. Johnson. No, we're going back to the beginning." He begins handing out papers. I pick mine up and look at it idly. "Our own beginnings. Family tree assignment, ladies and gentlemen."

"This is sixth grade work!" I object loudly, dropping the flimsy back onto the desk.

"Yes, but you didn't do it in sixth grade. And the number of relatives you have that did this assignment should make it a piece of cake for you, Mr. Pickles."

Relatives.

Oh, nuts.

---

Uncle Phil once offered me the sage advice that there is one perfect woman for every man, and what makes her perfect is that she is the only person on the face of the earth that, no matter how many times you messed up, or upset her, or forgot to put the garbage out, would always forgive you.

Aunt Kimmi offered, "Don't count on it," as she walked past.

I'm rooting for Uncle Phil on this one. Not because he's my blood relation, or because he's a guy and I have to respect the ultimate code of guyhood, but rather because I need him to be right and Kim to be wrong.

"What the hell do you keep looking over there for?" Alex asks as we walk through the depressing heat toward the bus stop.

I could just say "Nothing," but that would be lying. Because I'm looking over there to try and keep tabs on my latest little difficulty in life.

A difficulty that measures in at about five-foot-seven and wears her short black hair just under her ears (except on sport days, when she braids it), with brown eyes I could sink in and a sabre-edged wit with the attitude to match.

Who hates me.

"Nothing," I tell him, averting my gaze and trudging onwards.

Alexander catches sight of her in the distance. "Dude, I don't understand you."

"Wait a minute." I stop in my tracks and turn to face my best friend. "You don't understand something?"

"Don't be a smartass," Alexander suggests, before quickly catching himself with a - "Oops, too late."

I whack him over the back of the head with my hand and fling my bag down on the ground next to the picnic table. There's a nice group today - Matt's not here, though. Bummer. I could have used with a cheap win. "I object that statement. I've been attending American education institutions for thirteen years and my rear end is yet to get any more intelligent."

"The stuff they teach is designed to make your butt smart. 'Cause it sure doesn't work on the head."

"Are we going to exchange toilet humour all day?" Luke asks over the picnic table.

"'Cause that'd be good, y'know." Jessica offers, before Luke glares at her.

I slide the cards out of my pocket and dig in my bag for my box of currency. "Alright, alright. The game is five-card draw, nothing wild, nothing blind. It's straight up."

"What's the values today?" Alexander asks, sitting next to me and drawing out his own betting materials.

"Strawberries and cream are five, mints are two and milk bottles one," Luke calls.

"Snakes?" Alexander asks, digging through his party mix.

"Illegal tender," I inform him, cutting the deck.

"Damn," he mutters, pulling out a milk bottle and the tray. "Ante up."

A few hands later and swimming in mints, I gaze over at Jessica who isn't good enough to disguise the fact that she's quietly sweating. "What have you got, Jess?" I'm pretty confident she can't top my pair of tens - but the flop had two clubs backed up by another on the turn...if she's even got one club, she has eleven shots at the pot. And it's a pretty impressive pot - Alexander put at least forty on the table in mints and strawberries before folding his possible straight on the turn.

"Nothing I'm showing you," Jess declares after some deliberation, throwing another strawberry and cream onto the already slightly unstable mountain. "I call."

Luke shakes his head and grins. Burns one. Flips one.

The ten of clubs.

My heart sinks, and Jessica, for a moment, seems to think she's won. It must have shown on my face. No surprise. Like my mother, I wear my emotions on my sleeve.

"Twenty," Jess throws in, dropping ten mints into the middle.

"Call," I risk. For twenty, I can't not.

"Two pair," she declares, laying a couple of eights down on the table, and drawing the two tens in the middle toward her.

I grin disbelievingly at my cards before smirking at her. "Not so fast," I order her, grabbing her hands and pulling the two tens back toward me. "Three tens and a lady."

She glares at me as I pick up the tray and dump its contents into my already bulging tupperware. "Here, Alex," I withdraw the ten mints Jess closed with, "freshen your breath."

Now he's glaring at me.

Through his veil of discontent, Alex shuffles and cuts. "Three card Hugo."

"Sounds good," Luke decides, throwing a milk bottle into the middle.

I follow suit. "Glad you think so."

"So what about this family tree project?" Jess asks as she antes. "What a drag."

"Nah, sounds fun," Luke offers, having a quick look at his first card.

"You're just Mr. Positive this afternoon," Alex growls, placing the deck next to him.

"Well it does," Luke reaffirms, and sticks his tongue out at the dealer.

I let out a chuckle. "You'd think so, wouldn't you."

"Not my fault you're related to half of the Western Seaboard," Luke tells me, throwing back a card.

I look at my mismatched cards. Two of spades, six of clubs. Three of diamonds.

I sigh and throw back the two and six. Long shot if I ever saw one. "It's not that bad. It's just...really wierd. My family three would get so tied up in knots that the best solution would be to take to it with a really good pair of scissors."

"Did you just say three?" Jess asks over her cards.

Bugger, I did.

"Your Freudian slip is showing," Alex mutters, sliding me my first card. "Costs you to buy the next."

"I know the rules," I remind him, picking up my replacement.

The three of hearts.

"How does a family tree get tied up in knots?" Luke queries, retrieving his replacement from the picnic equipment.

"When your step-somethings are all each other's step-something-elses," I tell him. "It's all very, very strange." I throw a clutch of milk bottles into the middle. "I'll open for five."

"See five raise five," Luke bets. "Well, I get it easy. Mum, Dad are only children of only children and I'm an only child."

"Shut up," I mutter, downhearted.

"Max is right, though," Jess offers. "Call the ten. You've got so many resources to draw from that it'll be a piece of cake. Just kind of make a best-of thingy."

"Yeah, easy as pie. I fold."

"I think he'll pick up that it's not my own work," I point out. "See the five, raise another ten."

"He's sitting on a pair for my money," Jess observes.

"It can't be all that strong," Luke hedged. "Call."

"Ditto and buy," Jess joins in. Gee, this is swell. Up against two. Odds of two out of forty, provided none of the other hands hold a three.

Never earned lollies by sitting on the sideline. "Call and buy. Showdown, lady and...Luke."

Luke gives me a brief glare and lays down a trio of nines. "I can feel the cavities already."

Alexander flips over Jess' last card. "Pair of tens," she calls dejectedly.

"Whatchya got, movie boy?" Luke asks, peering at me over a mound of sugary treats.

"Pair of threes," I lay down the cards.

"Stiff odds there," Alexander declares.

He flips the card.

"What!?"

I grin at Luke as I reach over the exposed three of spades and pull the lollies toward me.

The victory doesn't last. "Chalkie!" Luke excitedly mutters.

Jessica's eyes go wide, but the cards and betting tray disappear in a flash. I never even saw Alex and Luke move. They're getting good at this.

I hear the footsteps come up behind me, and I wait with bated breath.

"After school study group?" asks a familiar voice.

I don't know whether to sigh in relief or not. "Uh...yeah."

Steel-capped boots click along the pavement toward the table and I feel the presence of the man behind me. I can almost hear him smirking. "What are we studying?" He moves around the table, slowly, deliberately.

"History," Jess tells him, pulling her book out from under the table. Quick thinker, that one.

"Sure, yeah. History," Luke agrees, digging in his bag. "Y'know, Nazis, France, the Pacific theatre, England -"

"Odds?"

Alexander shakes his head, smiling. Luke grins sheepishly until Jess fixes him with a glare.

"Well, yeah. Like what are the odds that Hitler killed himself?" I offer.

"The odds would be one in forty, Mr. Pickles." He pauses behind Alexander and plucks the dealer's dead hand from the front pocket of his bag, flipping it over. "Mr. Johnson here had the three of clubs."

"You do pretty well for an English teacher," I deadpan.

"But of course," he says, in that impossibly smarmy way of his. "Don't forget who taught you this game." He pulls up the spare seat and reaches into one of the pockets of his impossibly old, but still durable coat and withdraws a fresh, unopened bag of milk bottles. "Now is someone going to deal me in, or what?"

I shake my head at the sight. "What would Aunt Kimmi say? Her husband, the English teacher, gambling with his students."

Uncle Phil grins cockily at me. "She'd tell me to bring home plenty of strawberries and cream. She always did have a sweet tooth."

---

Authors note - Three-card-Hugo is named after the game Hugo's House Of Horror's by David P. Grey, in which the number 333 crops up as various interesting tidbits - it's the code to a safe, the combination on the lock of a back shed, it's the order you have to give the monster thingy...three threes is the highest hand, two threes is the lowest pair.

---


	2. Family Night

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - Chapter 2. The continuing tale, and James' idea. Hope you enjoy. Please review.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

"You're home late," Mom observes as I wander into the house, dropping my bag by the door. "And don't leave your bag at the door."

I glare in the general direction of the kitchen and pick the backpack up again. "Yeah, sorry I'm late. I had a -"

"History study group," she finishes for me, turning to face me as I step into the dining room. "I know." I go to get a banana. "Kimmi called."

I can't resist the urge to grin. "How's she?"

"She's well. But not happy with you."

"Hey, it was an above the table game. He lost those milk bottles fair and square."

"Did you really ignore your cousins?"

I sigh and hang my head. "Not this again..."

"James Stewart Pickles! We raised you better than that!"

"Look, it was lunch, I was busy - " But it's a lost cause, and I know it straight off.

"You are not too busy to be nice to and help your cousins. Marcus and Cara are several years younger than you and could use someone to stick up for them." God, I am in trouble. Her feet are tapping and everything.

"I'm sorry. I was -"

"I don't want to hear it, just don't let it happen again."

Seriously, if it weren't for my mother and aunty, our telephone provider would go broke.

"Now, any homework?"

"Just some history stuff from Max," I tell her, fishing out the assignment sheet. "A family tree."

Her eyes roll. "Shouldn't you have done this years ago?"

"Meh. I'm not fussed, I just want to get it done."

"Good luck," she offers. "Now get upstairs and if you're going to shower, do it."

"Where are we going?" I ask, suspicious. I finish off my banana and drop the skin in the trash.

"Don't tell me you forgot!" she exclaims. "It's Friday night."

"Oh yeah," I recall with dawning horror. "How could I block that from memory. Friday night."

---

It's seven pm on a Friday night. Family night.

Family night with two hyperactive siblings, four slightly disjointed cousins, an aunt and uncle, an "aunt and uncle", my grandparents, and anyone else who can be dragged away from whatever their Friday evening plans were.

I wonder if I can get a card game going...

"Do you ever go anywhere without those cards?" Uncle Dil asks, dropping into the seat next to me.

"Nup," I tell him, shuffling them quietly from side to side. "They're my security blanket."

"Well, wait until the women get into the weekly gossip and you, me and Phil can maybe rope your dad into a few hands of Hearts," he whispers conspiratorially.

I find it difficult not to look at my uncle in a different light these days. When I was younger, he was always just Uncle Dil, the resident loony. He was always doing something nuts - he and Phil used to play off each other like nothing else, wisecracking and seemingly competing for everyone's respect as the most insane of the extended deVille/Finster/Pickles clan.

But that all changed.

They don't like to talk about it, of course. But it's not like everyone doesn't know how close it all came to falling apart.

"So, given any more thought to the career choice?" Dil asks. "Last year of high school, after all."

I shrug and take a sip of my lemonade. "A bit. I was worried Dad was going to want me to be a director or something there for a while, but I think he appreciates that it's not really my thing."

"I still say you'd make a great inventor," Dil insists. It's not the first time we've discussed this. The entire family knows how much Dil misses his carefree days of inventing and having fun with life. I felt kind of sorry for him when the real world crashed down around him.

I shrug. "It's something to think about I guess."

"James!"

I sigh in resignation. "Hey Lou," I greet the youngest member of the clan. You would never pick him as Dil's son. He looks like his mother. Well, you know what I mean. Brown hair, kind of small. Not really much of a Pickles in the appearance department.

Lou waves and turns to his dad. "Marcus wants to know if 'you two old fogeys' are going to deal the cards or if he's going to have to sit around listening to Cara and Carmen gossip all night."

Dil and I exchange a look before he faces his only child. "Tell Marcus that we'll get to it when the women are nice and distracted. And that he's been hanging around his dad way too much."

Lou shrugs and heads back into the middle of the backyard to relay the message.

"I don't know how he's going to turn out yet," Dil says, watching his kid dodge a playful punch from Marcus.

"You mean you don't know if he's going to jump on the nutty bandwagon with you or go the way of the sane people like his mother?"

"Something like that."

I recline in my chair to the extent that the rigid plastic will allow. "Give him a few years. He's still young."

"So are you," Dil points out.

"I'm not that young," I insist, "I'm nearly eighteen."

"Nearly."

"Shaddup," I mutter.

---

It's 11pm on a Friday night. The rest of the kids have packed it in and the women have long ago gone in for coffee. It's down to the nitty gritty.

Tonight on DPF Showdown, live from the DeVille Backyard, we have one of the most gruelling efforts of concentration known to man.

Sitting in the dealer's position is Dylan Pickles. Dil, age 38, is a successful architect, but only because "all the good inventions were already taken", and his wife threatened to leave him if he didn't find a job soon. His hobbies include raising the next generation to be a little left of the centre and irritating his brother. His record on DPF Showdown this season has been shaky at best, but he's in his element here. Odds are he could actually play this game standing on his head. Literally.

In seat two tonight is Charles Randall Finster III. Chuckie, age 40 (no matter what he says), is a massively successful writer with a lovely home, a wife, and a son. The trophy cabinet at home has been weighed down by mutliple prizes, including two Emmys and an Oscar - but he refuses to go into movies and TV full time (his wife thinks he's crazy). Hobbies include jogging, chess with his brother-in-law (which comes with an assortment of jokes about baby vomit that no-one else gets) and occasionally lecturing on writing at local Universities. A tendency to over-raise in Poker makes him a long shot on this season's odds, but his success rate in other games has been startling. Surely one that our viewers at home are always interested to see play.

Sitting opposite the dealer this evening is Thomas Pickles. Tom, Tommy or Dad, age 39, is a director of some renown, having once one an Oscar for best direction, but is more recently taking a break to be with his family. Hobbies include tennis and being irritated by his brother. Has come second for three seasons of DPF Showdown, but is yet to walk away with the crown. Could this be the year?

In seat four is Phillip Michael DeVille. Phil, age 39 (yet still his sister is mysteriously 38), enjoys his work teaching English at a local high school, but enjoys raising his twin daughter and son more. Some would say that he "enjoys" his wife the most of all the elements of his life, but the don't say it in public. Hobbies include stargazing, playing a variety of instruments and writing music. Undefeated in four consecutive DPF seasons, and not looking like he's about to lose tonight, Phil DeVille is on fire when it comes to his cards.

And, finally, seat five this evening is James Stewart Pickles. James, age 17 (almost 18), attends the same local high school that Phil (unfortunately for James) teaches at. His hobbies include writing, directing, cards, inventing and trying to make amends with girls. He aspires to be whatever someone talks him into. In only his second season of DPF (_"when you're older..."_), James has put in a good showing, but is yet to maximize on his potential.

The game is spoons. And for James Pickles, this hand is all or nothing.

I could be a commentator...

"So," Phil begins as he starts drawing from the deck, "how's it going in the world of writing, Chuck?"

"Oh, y'know," Chuckie half-heartedly responds, replacing one of his cards with the one Dil just slid him, "it's alright. The usual - can never write when I try to, always can when we're doing something else..."

"Gee Tommy, sounds like -"

"Don't say it," I caution Dil, tossing a card onto the discard pile. "I could do without the imagery, thanks."

"Yes, please don't," Dad backs me up. "And are we going to play cards or chat endlessly?"

"What, can't do both at the same time?" I ask, watching as Chuckie noticeably ups the pace on Dad.

"Come on, old man!" Dil heckles his brother, grinning mischievously.

"By one year!" He yells, offended. Dad finally discards to his little brother, and turns to see the depressingly sized pile that has built up next to him in the time he's been delaying.

Chuckie shrugs as he plays on. "You were taking forever."

"So James," Phil calls across the table, "you seemed distracted in English today."

"I thought we had a rule about not discussing school in public," I point out.

"We did? Oh well." My elder uncle keeps the cards coming. "Just wondering if anything was up."

"No, everything's fine," I insist, turfing another discard. "Everything's fine."

Phil gives me his little disbelieving smirk but plays on.

Plays on quite fast, actually.

I give a quick glance to the centre of the table, where there are only three spoons.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one who's noticed. Dil's across the table in a flash, grabbing the most convenient spoon. As I lunge, Chuckie swipes my target out from under my hand, leaving the final piece of cutlery. My eyes meet Dad's for an instant, then it's on, the scramble pushing the spoon halfway around the table. Just as I feel the cool stainless steel under my fingers, Dad slaps the concave, sending the spoon flipping into the air. He fields it neatly and I'm left gaping at my three queens and a nine as Phil lays down a full set of sevens.

Dad blows over the edge of the spoon and quirks his eyebrows. "Old man indeed."

---

It's 12 midnight on a...Saturday morning, I guess. The card table looks like the scene of some great, horrific battle that is better off over. The cards are in a neat pile, but they're the only thing that are. Dil's over on the floor somewhere, Dad's flat on his back on one of the banana lounges on the patio, and Chuckie's all but fallen asleep with his face on the table.

"What a sorry sight you guys make for," a voice comes from the doorway.

"Hey Angie," I mutter, not bothering to open my eyes.

"Is that slacker husband of mine asleep?"

"Yes," Chuckie confirms, but his voice is muffled.

My "aunt" strides across the patio, grabs him by the arm, and hauls him to his feet. "Come on, time to go home. Carmen is starting to complain."

"Why isn't Carmen asleep?!"

"Because she has a better constitution than you do," Angelica tells him.

"See you guys...uh...today, I guess."

"Sounds good," says Dil, still lying prone. Tommy kind of manages to wave a hand.

Phil looks up from his guitar. "Sure."

"Aren't you tired?" I ask, swivelling myself enough to face him.

"Nah. I get enough sleep during class time."

I shake my head. "My English teacher."

---

It's 12.30am on a Saturday morning. I think. I'm inside with a cup of coffee in my hands, not sure why I'm bothering to try to remain conscious. Phil and I are sitting at the kitchen table - Dad, Mom and Aunt Kimmi are all in the lounge room talking, while Dil, Amanda, Chuckie, Angelica and their broods have all long flown for home. Jamie and Todd must be around here somewhere, but I think they're unconscious, so I'm not fussed one way or another.

Phil puts his feet up on the table and pits me with a serious glare. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you all here."

I pit him with the most expressionless expression I can muster under the circumstances. "No."

"Oh well." He shrugs in a "what can you do" sort of manner before continuing. "I want to know what you're doing about Sophie."

"About who now?" I ask, but it's effortless. Phil's onto me anyway.

"Come on. I know you can weasel your way out of these conversations at home, but I'm at the same school you are. What's with the repenting act all of a sudden?"

"Nothing," I insist. "There is nothing going on between me and Sophie."

"Exactly."

"Phil, it's half past midnight. Stop talking nonsense, or uncle or no uncle, I'm going to biff you."

"Look, half the school knows about your crush on her - "

I finally put some effort into moving and lift my head. "I don't have a crush on her."

"Then what's going on!?" Phil pulls his feet down and seat in. "Seriously, dude, you're acting really weird around her. There's been no witty banter exchanged in my class for a month. It's starting to get deathly boring. What happened to the inappropriate jokes? The flirting -"

"There was never any flirting."

"The flirting, the teasing. Come on, James," he leans in across the table, "on the level. What's going on."

I sigh. "It's not that I like her in the strictest sense."

Phil nods and motions me to continue.

"It's not that I like her in the strictest sense, more like I'm ruing the fact that I may have blown my chance to get to know whether I do or not."

He leans back into his chair. "Ah. Regret 101, huh?"

"Yup."

"Have you tried apologizing?"

I pit him with a 'what are you, stupid?' look. "Yes, of course I've tried apologizing. D'you think she listens?"

"Nope." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Have you given her any reason to believe you?"

I hang my head. "No, I guess not."

"Well, maybe that's where you're going wrong." He shrugs. "You never know with women. But maybe if you make some kind of gesture, some kind of peace offering - just something - maybe she'll be talking to you again."

"Again?"

"You know what I meant," he insists, before collecting the coffee mugs and walking over to the sink. "D'you want another?"

"Sure, sure." I lean back in my chair and am very careful not to close my eyes. "Hey Uncle Phil?"

"Yeah?"

"From what I've heard, when you were my age, you were -"

"An obnoxious, rude, crude little bugger who was way to self motivated and inclined toward rude jokes? Somewhat like you are with Sophie?"

"In those exact words. What happened?"

He looks contemplative for a second. "I grew up, I guess."

I watch him make the coffees in silence for a minute. "You grew up?"

"Well, yeah. It's not that I wanted to, necessarily." He returns to the table and hands me a fresh mug. "I miss being a kid. But...well, growing up has its advantages, too."

"Like?"

He gulps down most of his cupful. "Like being married and having kids, for a start. I wouldn't trade that for the world. And teaching, I love that too."

I look closely at him. "Why did you change so much?"

"Because it's what people do," he tells me. "Everyone changes, it's inevitable. As for why I became what I am...that one goes to everyone around me."

"How so?" I ask, feeling sleepiness creeping in on the edge of my eyelids but refusing to surrender to it.

Phil looks me right in the eyes. "Because we're all effected by those around us. Every event we share with others we know - some we love, some...not so much, I guess -"

"Angelica?"

"For many years," he confirms. "Anyway, every event we share with them, has some way of shaping us. There are some stories behind this little extended family of ours, let me tell you."

---

It's 2am on a Saturday morning and I'm sitting in my room staring at the assignment handout from Max.

"James? It's time to sleep," Dad pokes his head in my door.

I look up at him, and decision sets in. "Dad, I wanted to ask a favour."

"That can't wait until morning?"

I shake my head. "We got this family tree assignment from school."

"You can't hand mine in again. Max'd spot it a mile away."

"No, no." I take a deep breath. "Dad, I wanted to borrow a camera."

He raises an eyebrow, and I take that as a cue to continue.

"Uncle Phil said something today that got me thinking. There are a lot of stories behind all the members of this family. So what's the point of telling everyone about us if I don't tell the stories that go along with them?"

"So you want to make a movie."

I nod. "That's it in a nutshell."

"You can't borrow Roman," he tells me.

I grin. "I expected as much."

"See you in the morning, kiddo."

I glare at him, but I smile at the last minute. "Night, dad."

When he's gone, I place the handout on my desk and look over my room.

Do I have a story to tell?

I don't know yet. But let's see if we can make one.

---


	3. Tommy and Lil: The Test

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - This is where the story's main gimmick of sorts is revealed. The passages in italics are flashbacks, of sorts - essentially, you could consider them mini-fics, stories that the gang are telling for James' documentary. Tommy and Lil will tell the first, but every pairing gets one. Some are angstier than others.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

"There is a good reason I'm up this early in the morning?" Mom asks, rubbing at her eyes with her hand as Dad coaxes her awake with a cup of coffee.

"Yes, because I don't have much time and I want to start with our immediate family," I tell her, checking the light. She looks pretty good for someone who has been dragged out of bed at eight am when they only got to sleep at about three-ish.

"Surely this is violating some part of the child-parent code," she mutters.

I paste my best puppy dog look on my face and feel almost sick because of it. I hate sucking up. "Please, Mom."

She sighs but remains silent.

"Alright..." I press record. "Rolling. In three...two...one..."

**(2) Thomas Louis Pickles (b. 15/9/--, )  
m. Lillian Marie Jill Deville (b. 31/3/--, Los Angeles Calif.) on 14/7/-- at unspecified location.**

"Hi, I'm Thomas Pickles, and this is my wife, Lil Pickles."

Hardly Shakespeare, but this is supposed to be genuine after all.

"Uh...pretty much we've known each other our entire lives. So has most of the family, actually. Are you sure this is going to make for interesting footage?"

"Dad!"

"Sorry, sorry. Uh...anyway...what did you want to know?"

"I dunno. Anything about yourselves, your relationship. That kind of thing."

"Well...I'm a director, and I won an Academy Award for my direction of the film 'The Concept'."

"I'm a psychiatrist. I've never won any awards."

"And as for our relationship...well, we got together when we were about eighteen, and we were on-and-off for about a year before finally settling down and firming up as a couple. We got married when we were twenty, and we had our first child, James Pickles, about a year later, just as we were finishing university."

"You've had the longest running relationship of your generation. Any reasons why the two of you were more compatible than the others?"

"I don't think that it's that we were more compatible, more that we just got together earlier."

"Everyone's still very secretive about exactly where it was you eloped to."

"We didn't want everyone to know. I can't remember why."

"How much do Alzheimer's injections cost?"

"I don't remem - very funny."

"I get my wit from Mom's side of the family, of course."

---

_I'm sitting on the rim of my bathtub on a Friday afternoon. My wife is sitting opposite me on the edge of the basin. There's a bathroom between the two of us. And on the windowsill, just tucked out of sight, is the thing that may change the course of our life._

_She's seen better days, it has to be said. I don't think she'd disagree. Her hair is tied back in a loose ponytail for practical purposes. Her face is pale and she looks like she could use another shower._

_But she still looks amazing to me._

_I'm trying to think what to think. And I still don't know. Ever since she called me, panicky, in class, fretting over being sick and nauseous. I rushed home straight after class, and she greeted me at the door with a horrified expression on her face._

_Am I ready for a child? Are we ready for a child?_

_A child is a lot of responsibility, I can hear my mother's voice telling me. Not something to be entered into on a whim, but carefully thought about and all the options considered._

_I'd always imagined us having a big, happy family, living somewhere in the suburbs, teaching our kids to ride their bikes at some park after Phil and I had spent a long Christmas Eve battling with building them. I could see Lil teary in my arms as our first-born is whisked off to school, as if we'll never see him or her again._

_But then, I'd never thought about the challenges involved._

_Like the feedings in the middle of the night. Or the sudden need to bring in money. Would I be able to fulfill a dream of being a director if I had to support a young family?_

_I wonder if Dad ever thought about that._

_After all, being an inventor couldn't be any easier than being an artist or a writer, or a director for that matter. And yet he managed to make ends meet. It wasn't always easy, sure, but then life isn't either._

_And, above all else, there's no way I'm giving this up._

_Because this child, if there is one, is ours, and it'll always be ours. And I don't think I could bear to miss out on the experience. So it won't always be easy. But it's something I wouldn't miss for the world._

_The egg timer on the closed commode buzzes, and our eyes meet for a moment, before simultaneously sliding to look at the windowsill. I rise slowly and walk across the bathroom in slow, deliberate steps, reaching up to pull the test down._

_And before even looking at it, I pull my wife to her feet and kiss her, whispering "I love you," in her ear, "no matter what."_

_She offers me up a weak little smile and tucks her head in under my chin. "I love you too."_

_I hold the test out in front of us._

_---_

"So, a movie, huh?"

I catch the basketball that Alexander throws to me and start dribbling it lazily. "Yeah. It was a really good idea at two in the morning."

"It's not anymore?" Jess asks as I swerve around her.

"No, it still seems good. But it's not as easy as you'd think."

"Your dad's a director. Just get him to help," Luke suggests, trying to anticipate my next move.

"I asked him not to," I confess as I shoot from way too far out and miss the basket by a wide margin. "I want to do this on my own."

"So, is their a second generation of Pickles headed toward the movie making business then?" Alexander asks.

"Nup," I say, "this is strictly a one shot thing."

The bright sun of a Saturday afternoon beams down on the asphalt as Jess and I approach Alex from different sides as he streaks toward the centre line. "You know you're going to make the rest of us normal people look bad with this."

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that," I offer as I try - unsuccessfully - to swipe the ball out of Alex's grip.

"Sure," he says, and nails a shot from outside the three-point circle.

I pick up the slowly rolling ball and start dribbling it again, slowly, looping around the guys toward the centre line again so I can begin a new offensive.

And I see her.

She's walking with her family through the park. Her short black hair is tied back, exposing her face - something she doesn't normally do. She looks at ease, happy.

I'm knocked out of my reprieve by a little under a hundred pounds of female teenager slamming into me at a rate of knots.

I drop the ball on my way to the ground with a sheepish Jess grinning at me as she hauls herself to her feet. "Thanks a lot," I growl, accepting her hand up.

"Whatever this obsession with Sophie you've developed is, I strongly advise you drop it," Luke says, scooping up the ball. "That way lies disaster."

"I just don't get why she won't accept my apology," I tell my friends, dusting myself off but still watching her in the distance. "I mean, I'm not that bad a guy."

"Yes, James, but this is the girl who thought you were stalking her because you got off at the same bus stop as she did," Alex reminds me.

"Despite knowing that you just lived up the road," Jess adds.

"She's not even that nice a person," Luke finally points out. "Why are you so stressed about what she thinks about you?"

"I dunno why," I say. "It's just...well, do any of you know her? Really?"

I get a round of "um, no's" and head shaking.

"See, you don't know her. So how do you know she's so horrible?" I question.

Luke stops dribbling the ball and reaches out to grab Alex's shoulder. "Oh, god. Quick, get a bucket of water. We might snap him out of it in time."

"We might need external help. What's the number for nine-one-one?" Jess adds.

"Hah-hah," I mutter, mirthlessly. "Most original material I've heard in years, really."

"You like her, don't you?" Alex asks, pulling away from Luke and stepping toward me.

"No, it's not that I like her. It's more that I just want a chance to get to find out if I do or not. Rather than having blown my chance with no idea."

Alex shakes his head slowly, mournfully. "I still say it'll end in disaster."

"We'll see," Luke says, thumping me on the back. "Friend, you're crazy. But it's about time we had some eccentricity about this place. Now let's go get a nice, cold drink a have a toast to your imminent death."

---

"Look, I still say this is really creepy."

I sigh in frustration. "It's not creepy. It's my award winning project. Now shut up and just answer the questions."

"How can I answer questions if I'm being quiet?"

"And rolling in three...two...one..."

**(3) Andrew Timothy Pickles (b. 5/2/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)**

"For the purposes of this documentary, please state your full name and date of birth."

"Won't you just flash that up on an overlay or something?"

"Just do it!"

"Alright! I'm Andrew Timothy Pickles, son of Thomas and Lillian Pickles, fourteen years old and big brother to Cassandra. My parents decided to have me when they realized their first child was the spawn of Satan. We tried to ditch him on countless vacations to the Grand Canyon, but he just kept finding his way back home...hey! If you keep throwing things at me, I won't do your stupid documentary!"

---


	4. Chuckie and Angelica: The Wedding

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - This story is probably going to end up being a bit shorter than I intended, but that's alright. I never really wanted to drag it out. It's Chuckie and Angelica's turn - I've finally written a wedding! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

Just what is a Monday? Monday is a day designed to add misery to an otherwise enjoyable week.

Jim Davis, if you hadn't picked it.

"You look like you had a long weekend," Alex says, pushing a cardboard cup of coffee from the school cafeteria into my hand.

"I thought the problem was more that it wasn't long enough," I point out, accepting the offered drink gleefully. "I shot the first part of my movie."

"The immediate family. How did it go?"

I shrug in a noncommittal manner. "As well as can be expected." I take a quick swig of coffee. "Alright in the end, I guess. But this isn't going to be an easy project, I can tell."

"You make it hard for yourself," he tells me, sipping from his own disposable mug.

"Yeah, that's me, I'm a masochist at heart." I pull my cards out of my pocket. "They're already shuffled. Just cut and deal."

"Okay. So, who's up next?"

I'm about to answer when I'm distracted by the not insignificant sound of a large family car pulling into the teacher's car park. The engine is as quiet as a whisper. The sound-system is pumping out Jet at a volume normally required to be heard at nuclear testing sites.

The twins are not far behind on their bikes, doing their level best to try and look like they have nothing to do with the whole situation.

I turn back to Alex. "Looks like Chuckie and Angelica."

---

"Alright, so did anyone actually _read_ the text?"

Silence.

Phil nods. "Alright, I expected as much. So, with no-one having read the damn play, we'll just wing it. Now, who can tell me anything - anything at all - about Macbeth?"

Persistent silence. Phil's eyes meet with mine and I sigh in resignation, realizing that my darling Uncle has volunteered me to be the only moron in class who talks. "He was power-hungry," I offer.

"More like his wife was," Joe offers from two rows over.

I shake my head. "Nah, I don't buy it. He was driven by his own motives even before he talked to his wife about it. He craves power - he craves blood, he's a soldier, a general." I shrug. "She may have fuelled the spark, but it was already there."

"For people who haven't read the text, you seem to know a lot about it," Phil offers, sitting on his desk and gazing at us with an amused look.

I snort. Phil knows that no-one wants to speak in class. It's a teenage thing. I don't pretend to understand it, I just bow to the mighty, all-powerful force that is peer-pressure and carry on my way.

"I might have skimmed it," I tell him. "Anyway, power-hungry women aside, Macbeth was a dark character."

"How can you not have sympathy for him," an all-too-familiar voice asks from the row behind me, to my right. I glance out of the side of my eyes at the girl who offered the comment.

She's short. Barely comes up to my shoulders, but then I'm fairly tall. Her hair falls down to above her shoulders, and she's wearing it down today. In this light it's revealed to be a dark-brown, but most of the time it looks black. Her brown eyes flash slowly as they meet mine, and I feel myself pulled in an incredible urge to argue with her. To banter with her, to exchange witty remarks, to make some really astoundingly bad jokes. But then I remember my latest dedication to not piss her off, to try and make things right. So I sit still and reserve myself, like a good boy. Mom would be proud.

"I just don't. I don't think he really has anything bad happen to him that isn't of his own making, so he doesn't do anything to earn sympathy," I tell her, but I don't turn fully.

It doesn't escape me that when Sophie spoke up, Phil was on the edge of his desk, gripping it like he was trying to split the wood in half with his bare fingers. "What do you think, Sophie?" he presses, and I know exactly what he's trying to do.

"I think that Macbeth's wife is the cause of his downfall, and so we have to feel sorry for him," she tells Phil, but I can feel her eyes burning holes in the back of my head.

"She's right. You have to feel sorry for a submissive male. I mean, every time she gets the riding crop out..."

I can't believe I just said that.

She doesn't say anything. That's normal enough. The class laughs, Phil's stifling chuckles, and she's glaring. But this time, I feel remorse. I feel bad for what I just said.

Well, doesn't that count for something?

---

"Are you sure you want to interview me?"

"No, I want to interview the both of you."

"I'm really not sure - "

"Oh, sit down and participate in your nephew's family tree, Finster!"

"Alright, alright."

"Okay, and we're rolling in three...two...one..."

**(2) Angelica Charlotte Finster (ne. Pickles) (b. 14/11/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)  
m. Charles Randall Finster III (b. 11/1/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.) at London, Eng. 4/7/--**

"Hi, I'm Angelica Finster. I'm James' second cousin."

"...ow. What did you poke me for? Oh. Yeah, I'm Chuckie Finster, I'm...I'm also James' cousin. Sort of. Are you sure we fit into this?"

"Yes. So, why England?"

"Because this old softy here wanted us to have a beautiful and romantic wedding, and he knew I liked London. So we got married in Hyde Park. It _was _very romantic."

"It was? Oh, yeah, it was. It was just...well, I knew it was what she wanted, and I just thought - gee, I really should try to make her happy and everything, and -"

"Okay, now you're overdoing it."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, you two have a notably...antagonistic relationship."

"We do?"

"I never noticed."

---

_I almost chickened out._

_I mean, I didn't really want to, I don't think. I love her. It was just nerves. It was really just nerves._

_But what if it wasn't?_

_I'm standing here in Hyde Park, looking habitually over my shoulder at my best man, Tommy, and I am brutally aware that if I try to run that he'll grab me and haul me back into place. And if he misses, Phil and Dil are on all-action alert. There's no running out on this wedding._

_Because it's mine._

_So why do I feel so nervous?_

_The morning after James was born, Phil steered me into an empty hospital room and we had a conversation where he seemed to be dedicating a lot of effort toward keeping a straight face. He, it turned out, had drawn the short straw and go the unlucky job of asking me about my relationship with Angelica, how serious it was, how far we'd gone, and if I was in full command of my mental capacities._

_"Yes," was all I said, to every question, whether it was appropriate or not._

_I can see why he'd been struggling not to laugh, though. On the face of it, it's a ridiculous proposition. Me...and Angelica? It just seems...well, nuts is probably a good way of putting, borderline insane is another._

_I somehow wonder how she wormed her way into my heart. I sometimes sit up at nights contemplating how the hell I got into hers. Maybe it was just that we were all each other had in a new environment. And that thought worries me, I've got to admit, because if that was why we fell for each other, doesn't that meant that our relationship will pop like a soap bubble sooner or later?_

_But then again, this has been going on for the best part of four years. Maybe...maybe this is how it's meant to be._

_The night James was born, when she accidentally out-ed us to the gang (she insists it was me who did it, but I think we both know the truth), that was interesting. I can see how some would think it was funny, but for me...well, old insecurities reared their ugly heads, and I felt certain that she was going to leave me. That it had been fine when no-one knew, but now she had her reputation to think of, and that was that._

_But it didn't go like that at all._

_She was angry, sure. But it was...playful, not hurtful. We had a good time that night, I've got to admit._

_When I proposed, a couple years back now, I realize, I'd done it with a trembling heart, worried that, despite the fact that we'd been living together for years, despite the fact that we'd gone through so much together already, she would reject me._

_But she didn't. She kissed me, said yes, and made some quip about this making it official that she was in charge._

_And it's taken me until now, today, standing at the altar, to realize that my fears were unfounded. Completely. Because she's not mean, she's clever. She's not angry, she's funny. She's got a short fuse, sure, but I know how to avoid lighting it. I spent years worrying about what her leaving me, but now I finally realize that she's not going to, because she loves me. I didn't think it was truly possible, for someone to love me - for **her** to love me - but it is, and I'm thankful._

_So I watch Drew walk her down the aisle, watch her smiling face in the setting sun, and I know that this isn't some joke, or something she'll take while waiting for something better to come along. We're together, and this is going to be forever. And with that thought, the last of my insecurities fade into insignificance, and as the minister tells me I can kiss her, and I do, I know that, no matter what the hard times may bring, this is as real to her as it is to me._

_We break apart, and so quietly that only I can just hear her, she says, "Just because we're married now doesn't mean you can expect to get some every night."_

_And I laugh._

---


	5. Friendly Advice

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - Chapter 5 isn't a flashback chapter - the other two flashbacks will be in chapters 6 and 8, and one of them will probably be quite familiar. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, I think it's perhaps a little repetitive, but it was the best I could come up with.

Note - acknowledgments to Jaded, from whose fics I adapted the "the school called and wants a refund line". Your fics rock.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

I deal the cards slowly, as if I'm afraid any quick movements will make my head fall off. I really, really need to make sleeping a regular thing.

But that would be easier if I could just stop thinking about...everything for long enough to doze off.

Matt's playing today, turning his cards over idly in his hands. He thinks he's pretty hot, but the amount of lollies I've won off him in the last two years kind of suggests otherwise. He's watching me intently, and I get the feeling that his fascination has very little to do with the card game. "You look spaced out, James."

"Fantastic observation," I agree. "Do you want any more?"

"Two," he says, sliding his rejects back toward me. "What's keeping everyone's favorite prodigy up nights, then? Working too hard? Or are you having - " his grin became exceptionally wide, "girl trouble?"

"Why does everyone assume that there's something going on between me and Sophie?" I wail, banging my head against the lunch table.

"For a start, no-one implied there was," Luke points out.

"And second, it could be because you keep banging on in class about how good she is in bed," Andy offers.

"Does no-one appreciate sarcasm anymore?" I ask in vain.

"_No..._" Jess exaggerates.

Some friends I've got, huh?

"With her being the dominatrix you make her out to be," Andy tells me, "I'm surprised you sleep at all."

"Is it easy to kip when hanging by your wrists?"

And the sad fact is, I brought all this on myself.

"Alright, alright," I finally announce, caving. "Alright, I've already decided to stop with the whole teasing her thing," I tell them. "Now, do you think you guys could see your way clear to laying off me while you're at it?"

The four of them exchange brief glances. "I'm not so sure," Matt tells me, "when someone makes such a blatant idiot of themselves, we feel obliged to point it out at every available opportunity."

Naturally.

---

"Hey, it's Mr. Pickles," a familiar voice berates me as I step into the near-deserted classroom. "Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

I shrug and sit on one of the tables. "Sorry I've been kind of neglecting my cousinly duties lately. But the way Dad tells it, Angelica was even worse."

Cara pits me with a stare. "I dunno. I'd rather have you giving us a hard time than having you pay no attention at all."

I feel a pang of guilt again. "Look, I'm sorry guys."

Marcus looks up from his book and shrugs. "I'm not fussed, really. She keeps getting bent out of whack by it though," he tells me, indicating his twin sister.

I return my gaze to said female, noting the glare in her eyes. She gets that from her mother, I think. I can't recall Phil ever raising a nasty look in anyone's direction in the time I've been alive. Frustrated and exasperated, maybe, but not nasty. "I guess I can find a way to forgive you," she growls.

I've got to kind of wonder how this fourteen year old girl manages to intimidate me at all.

_I must have a weakness for short women, _I decide, shrugging to myself.

"Anyway," I begin, deciding to get off this train of thought before I go crazy, "I need your advice."

Marcus and Cara exchange looks, and I can practically see messages flying telepathically between them. "You -"

"Need -" Marcus picks up.

"Our - " Cara continues.

"Advice?" They simultaneously conclude.

I shudder and wonder if Mom and Phil were ever like that.

"Yeah," I tell them. "I need your opinion on something."

"What's that?" Marcus asks, looking wary.

"How do I get a girl to like me?"

She starts laughing first, almost before the final syllable is out of my mouth. He's not far behind her, whether he's laughing with her or actually at me is something I can't quite tell. "You're asking -"

"Us?"

I shake my head in mourning. "I can't believe it, but..."

"The mighty elder is coming to his subjects for advice!" Marcus proclaims.

"Oh, praise be!" Cara begins circling her brother in some kind of quasi-ritualistic dance, and the effect is something I have to fight to keep from laughing at.

"Alright, you've made your point," I tell them, tapping my foot impatiently. "Now, are you going to help me or what?"

"Why don't you ask Dad?" Marcus asks, recovering from his laughter. "He knows way more about this kind of thing than we do."

"Bozo here doesn't even have a girlfriend," Cara jerks a thumb toward her brother.

"I am doing a service to this school by keeping myself as an open option to so many girls," Marcus clarifies.

"The school called and wants a refund," Cara quips. "Now, let's help our cousin as best as you are able."

"Are you implying you can do better?"

"Of course!"

I'm beginning to wonder why I decided to ask these two for help. "Guys?"

Marcus looks up and seems to notice I'm still there. "Oh. Yeah, you. Anyway, I think you should probably stop teasing her."

"Despite reports to the contrary," Cara elaborates, "girls do not appreciate getting teased. Especially not with the kind of jokes you tend to make."

"I try not to tease her," I tell them. "It's just...well, it's not easy."

"Work on it," they reccomend in an eerie echo.

It's knowing that Marcus, Cara and Andy exist that make me feel so much more justified in feeling like the normal one of the family.

---

"You sure you want to be a part of this?"

"I'm sure," she assures me. "Besides didn't you more or less force Andy to?"

"Yeah, but that was really just for fun."

"I'm a part of this family tree, so I want to be in this. And I'm ready."

I shrug my shoulder. "Okay, then. In three...two...one..."

**(3) Marie Lulu Pickles (b. 12/11/-- at Calgary, Alb. - long story...)**

"Hi, I'm Marie Lulu Pickles. I was born on the 12th of November, in Calgary. That's in Canada, in case you didn't know. Everyone tells me I was born at a Flames-Sharks game, but I think they're all just having fun with me -"

"They're not - "

"Whatever. Anyway, I'm the daughter of Tommy Pickles and Lillian Pickles. I'm their youngest child and I'm the youngest child of my generation in our family. I'm little but no-one beats me up."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tough."

"And don't you forget it."

---

"Alright, so why did you call me in here?"

I glare half-heartedly at my uncle as he grins across the staff room desk from me. "A couple of little birdies told me you went to them asking advice on how to pick up chicks."

I roll my eyes. "Those no good, two timing rotten - "

"Don't you think that, if you were going to ask someone on your generation for advice, Andy might have been the more practical choice?"

I shrug. "Would you have asked Mom for advice on how to pick up Aunt Kimi?"

He grins lopsidedly. "Not to get together with her, no, but I asked her for advice on how to keep her several times."

I roll my eyes. "Typical."

"You really are letting this Sophie thing get to you, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," I agree. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I think you should talk to Dil," he offers, and it becomes apparent to me that, for perhaps the first time I've ever seen him in private, he's serious.

"Why Dil?" I ask, the image of my grinning orange haired uncle springing to mind.

"Well...things didn't always go right for him with his girl, either," he points out. "And his experiences are probably a whole heap closer to yours than either me or your Dad."

"What do you mean?" I ask, scrunching up my face in concentration.

"You don't remember?" Phil asks. "Oh well...I guess you would have been a bit young...I think you should probably ask him, though."

"I'll keep that in mind," I assure him. "Was there anything else?"

Phil pits me with an even-eyed stare. "James, you're right, you know. Sophie isn't that bad a girl - certainly not as bad as her press would suggest. But she's never going to forgive you if you keep this up."

"I'd worked that out, thank you."

"Then knock it off," he orders me, before softening with a grin. "Just some friendly advice from everyone's favourite English teacher."


	6. Dil and Amanda: The Reconciliation

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - This is Dil's chapter, sort of. Some of the stuff that Phil and James discussed will become more clear-cut in this chapter, so hopefully it'll help out in making sense of stuff.

I've got to issue a formal apology here - the flashbacks were written months ago - toward the start of the year, actually - and I'd rather hoped to have written the end of the Dil/Amanda trilogy by now. But...I still haven't. Oops. Oh well. Anyway, this takes place a long while after they've actually hooked up. The events of this flashback have previously been alluded to in both this fic and "The Twilight Couch". Enjoy, anyway. And I'm going to be writing some happier Dil fics soon. See "A Day at the Races" and "Friends will be Friends", for example.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

I'm puffing fairly heavily by the time I finally catch up with her. My assorted calls of, "Hey, Sophie," have failed to have any impact - not that I'm particularly surprised.

"Sophie!"

She stops, very reluctantly, probably aware that if she doesn't I'll just trail her all the way home. I want to take some time to lean against a nearby tree and catch my breath, but I'm not surprising willingness to listen to last that long. She just turns to me, with her hands on her hips, and asks, venemously, "What?"

I resist the urge to take a step backwards. "I just...wanted to say sorry."

"What for?" she asks.

For being mean to you, even if I wasn't intending it. For hurting you. For ruining a chance to get to know you. For giving you insecurities, for flaring up ones that already existed. For being a generally difficult person.

"For everything, really."

"Oh. Thanks."

And she walks off.

"Wait, Sophie," I plead -

"Get stuffed, James."

I sigh, turning around reluctantly and heading for home.

That went just about as well as could be expected, I guess.

---

"I just wanted to warn you guys that the questions here might get a bit personal. I hope that's...okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"I'm okay with it."

"Alright. I just...well, I feel it's very important that -"

"James, relax, and start shooting. We'll be fine."

"Okay...rolling in three...two...one..."

**(2) Dylan Prescott Pickles (b. 22/4/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)  
m. Amanda Jane Carr (b. 2/1/-- at San Jose, Calif.) at Los Angeles, Calif. 22/9/--**

"Hi, I'm Dil Pickles. The person, not the food. I'm an architect, not-quite-famous for creating the Southern Square. Irritatingly, I'm getting paid more for being generic than creative, but it's fun and I can't complain. And this is my wife."

"I'm Amanda Pickles. I don't know if I share my name with a food. I'm a nurse. Or I was. I'm sort of not anymore. I'm sort of semi-retired."

"You guys are the youngest of the gang. Are you still the most fun-loving as well?"

"Yeah. Phil likes to think he's got the edge, but we have way more active lives than he can even dream of."

"Seven years is a long time to be dating. Why did you guys wait so long?"

"That's a difficult question to answer."

"If it's not being too pushy, do you mind giving it a shot?"

---

_I hear my door click as a key turns in the lock. I can narrow my candidates down fairly quickly as to who it is that's breaking into my apartment at this hour of the morning._

_"Dil? Are you in here?"_

_I don't rise from my chair. I continue to stare out the window at the stars above me. At the beautiful, innocent stars. Stars that know nothing of love and loss, or hate and anguish._

_"Yeah," I rasp quietly, but it's the only sound in the apartment. So he hears._

_I hear him make his way into the living room. I don't look over to see him but I can fell his stare burning into my back. "What the hell are you doing here?!"_

_"I live here," I remind him, drolly._

_"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He gives the room a quick once-over. "Why aren't you in San Jose?"_

_I bend far enough backwards to look over the top of the chair and see my brother upside down. "Because I live here, not in San Jose."_

_The upside down Tommy glares at me._

_"I don't believe you. I really just don't believe you." He lets loose a chuckle, but it's completely mirthless. It's a bitter, almost angry sound. "You're a class act, Pickles. Your girlfriend of seven years is in labor and you're sitting here getting pissed?!"_

_That reminds me. "Did you want a drink?" I ask, offering him the bottle of scotch._

_"No," he tells me. "No thank you. What I want is for you to get off your ass and get down to San Jose now!"_

_"No," I tell him. "We broke up, remember."_

_"No, she refused your proposal. Because you had no means of supporting a family."_

_"Don't tell me you're taking her side," I demand, hauling myself to my feet but feeling all the blood run straight to my head. "Because there is no way that my brother is going to stand there and tell me some girl is justified in breaking my heart."_

_He walks clear across the room in three long, broad strides and grabs me by the shoulders. "Dil, I'm not taking anyone's side. She was irrational, and maybe went a bit overboard, but she was right. You didn't have the money. The room. The means."_

_"Well, it's all for naught now, anyway," I mutter, bitterly._

_Tommy sighs a determined sigh and takes his hands off my shoulders, only to grab me by the collar and drag me into the kitchen._

_"What the hell are you doing!?" I demand as he shoves me into a kitchen chair. He doesn't say a word, though. He just grabs a glass down from the cupboard and fills it with cold water._

_He stomps over to me with the glass held out toward me and I instinctively flinch away. But the expected deluge doesn't come. I open my eyes slowly to see him downing the glass quickly, probably trying to counter the heat._

_I slump in relaxation._

_Then he refills the glass of water and flings it at me._

_"Right, Dil," he begins. "I'm only going to say this once. And then I'm going to throw you out of your apartment and deadbolt it so you can't get back in." He grabs me by the collar again and pits me with the hardest stare I've ever seen. And my brother can stare pretty hard, so that's saying something. "Whatever happened between you and Amanda, whatever didn't happen, whether she said no or yes or whatever - put it behind you. At least for tonight. Because your child is being born. And you should be there. This is a part of your life you should be there for. It's a part of your life that you should never be able to forget. And how will you remember it if you aren't there for it?" He releases me and stalks over to the window. "There's a perfect girl for everyone, Dil. A girl who'll forgive you for all your stupidity, who'll look past your mistakes and know you like no-one else. And this girl is lying in a hospital is San Jose asking everyone around her 'where the hell is the bloody moron!?'. So, Dil, this girl loves you enough that she wants you there. If she hated you, she wouldn't have even bothered to tell you she was in labor. Or even pregnant. And she certainly wouldn't have called me when you didn't respond." He pits me with a glare. "The way you've acted the last nine months has fascinated me. The moment you found out she was pregnant, you looked for a job. And look at you now! You've got your own place! You've got room, you've got a reasonable income. But now, that it's actually come down to the crunch, what are you doing? Sitting here on your ass drinking! You've come this close. Don't give up now."_

_I don't know what to say to that. And I don't think he's finished._

_"She doesn't come out smelling of roses either, I'll admit," he adds. "She was irrational at times. Running away to San Jose wasn't the best course of action, perhaps. But Dil, for better or worse, this woman loves you. And she wants you there. Whether or not you go home together or separately at the end of this is irrelevant. But don't miss it. Don't sit around here when you could be there, with her, and with your child."_

_He throws my keys at me. "Now get out."_

_So that leaves me standing at the imposing doors to a hospital on a steamy San Jose night, my hand twitching nervously and the last remnants of the scotch in my system making me breathe slightly quicker than I'd like._

_I step slowly up to the sliding doors and just watch for a second as they open and shut automatically, the sensor picking me up. Someone at the desk is watching me with interest._

_I finally step through the doors and walk up to the receptionist. "Maternity."_

_He raises an eyebrow, most likely at my slightly odd behavior before than at my request. "Sixth floor."_

_I nod slowly and walk slowly over to the elevator. The ride up in the box is a blur, but when the doors open and the first thing I see is a balloon declaring "It's a boy!" and flowers, my instinct is to run._

_But I step out and walk slowly toward the waiting room, hoping to find someone - anyone - who'll talk to me._

_"Dil." I don't so much hear the voice as feel it. And feel the uncertain eyes of the person it belongs to on me. I turn slowly to face the woman who I was once planning to have as my mother-in-law. She seems uncertain of what she sees, uncertain of what to do with me. "She's been asking for you."_

_I nod. I don't know what to say, either. "Where is she?"_

_"Room 21, up the hall. She hasn't gone into delivery yet."_

_I nod again, slower this time, and turn to go up the hall. "Thanks."_

_I'm walking away slowly when I hear the same voice call behind me, "Are you back to stay?"_

_I don't turn back. "I don't know yet."_

_She doesn't respond, so I walk on to the door._

_And beyond the door she's lying on a bed, her brown hair splayed out around her, sweat on her brow, a cup of ice next to her, and a look of worry on her face._

_And then she turns slightly and sees me. And I wait for the screaming and crying to begin, for the justified blame and the horrible cries of "I never want to see you again!"._

_But they don't come._

_"You made it," she whispers, so quiet I can barely hear her._

_I nod slowly, stepping cautiously toward the seat next to the bed. "I made it."_

_"I'm glad," she whispers as I sit down._

_"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," I tell her. "I'm sorry I haven't been here at all."_

_She shakes her head. "I'm sorry I ran away," she tells me._

_"Don't be," I say. "Don't be."_

_She reaches out slowly for me and I take her hand in both my own, relishing the feel of her soft fingers under mine. I've missed this so much._

_"I'm here for as long as you want me," I tell her._

_"Then stay. Just stay."_

_"I got a job," I tell her. "I'm an architect with a firm in the city."_

_She smiles at me softly. "I always knew your creativity would have a use other than inventing excuses."_

_I chuckle softly and kiss her hand gently. "I have a bigger place now, too. I moved out of the apartment a few weeks ago. It's got an extra room...if, y'know, you're ever in town and need a place to stay."_

_She doesn't exactly smile at that, but she nods. "Thanks."_

_"I don't want to rush you into anything," I tell her._

_"Don't worry about it," she assures me. "We'll work it out as we go."_

_I kiss her softly on the forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"_

_"Okay." She looks slightly panicked and I kick myself realizing that she might be worried I'm not coming back._

_I walk over to the nearest payphone and punch in the first number that occurs to me._

_The phone rings for an inordinate amount of time before finally a grumpy female voice demands, "What the hell do you want!?"_

_Despite the emotions coursing through my body, I can't help but grin. "And how are we today, Lillian?"_

_"Dil, do you know what time it is?"_

_"Yup. Are you doing anything?" I ask._

_"No," she states in a manner leaving no room for argument._

_"Then do you want to come to San Jose tomorrow?"_

_"Seriously?" she asks. "You're there?"_

_"Yes."_

_There's a pause. "We'll be there tomorrow. Anyone else?"_

_"Phil and Kim, and Mom and Dad. Chuckie and Angelica are still in New York?"_

_"Yeah. Okay, we'll be there," she tells me. "Are things...okay?"_

_I look over at the door I closed behind me. "I don't know yet. But I think they're going to be."_

_"That's good."_

_I smile slowly. "Yeah, it is."_


	7. Artistic License

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - Chapter 7 is a bit of a catch-up chapter. Chapter 8 will be out shortly, okay? Anyway, I just want to clear something up - Tommy and Lil's daughter's name is _Cassandra_, not Marie as I had previously implied. Sorry for the confusion, it was my fault for confusing myself and being indecisive. Whoops.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

"Okay, I want you guys to _try_ to be as serious as possible, alright?"

"If we must."

"I have no problems with being serious. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Rolling in three...two...one..."

**(3) Marcus Hiro DeVille (b. 21/4/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)  
(3) Cara Kimberly DeVille (b. 21/4/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)**

"Hi! I'm Marcus Hiro DeVille. I'm 2 minutes older than -"

"Cara Kimberly DeVille. He likes the fact that he's older the me, but I just think that means he'll be thirty before me."

"Yeah, yeah. Then why do you tell everyone you're older?"

"Because, Marcus, people -"

"Uh, guys? My documentary?"

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, we're James' cousins."

"We are?"

"Yeah. What did you think we were going to be?"

"I dunno. I mean, you just wouldn't know it, the way he -"

"Didn't we already cover this topic?"

"Alright. We did. Well, that leaves us with very little to talk about then, so for your entertainment, Cara will now perform the perennial favourite, 'Let's Dance', while I provide backing music."

"Cut!"

---

"What are you doing up on a bloody roof?"

I sigh but don't turn to look at Jess. "Nothing much, just thinking."

"You couldn't think somewhere warmer?" she asked, creeping forward with her arms wrapped around herself. She takes a seat next to me near - but not actually on - the edge. "Nice view."

"Yeah, it is, I guess," I agree, not really interested in the view. I never really come up here for the view.

"How's the family tree project going, anyway?" she asks.

I shrug. "As well as can be expected. How about yours?"

"Yeah, not too bad. Of course, me being the unoriginal soul I am, I'm just doing a poster."

I'm aware that there's more to this conversation than is actually being said. Part of me just wants to let it continue on its course, to let us just sit here a discuss menial topics for no particular reason other than we're friends.

But I know better.

"So, did you draw the short straw, or did you actually volunteer?" I ask.

"I volunteered," she assures me, but doesn't sound insulted or anything at the implication that it would have been otherwise. I'm willing to be it might have come to that, had she not done this of her own free will.

"So, ask the question, then," I implore her.

She sighs and seems to brace herself. "Are you in love with her?"

I shake my head, slowly. "No."

"Do you actually like her?"

I gaze out at the setting sun. "You know, I just might. I don't know yet."

"You might?" she asks, clearly confused.

"I didn't think I did, at first," I tell her. "But...thinking about certain things..." I stare out at the sky around me and struggle to find an answer. "Maybe I do like her, in some way, on some level. She...intrigues me."

"She intrigues you," Jess echoed, not surprised or disgusted, just contemplative. "What about her intrigues you?"

"Her personality," I answer without even having to think about it. "There's something under there...she's got a great sense of humor, from her end of it at least, and...have you met her parents? Her brother?"

Jess just shakes her head. "No, I don't think I have."

"I did. Once." I chuckle. "Boy, that was a fun experience. They live not too far away, you know, and I ran into them all at the mall once. Her brother just kind of glared at me. I could barely understand a word her father said - I think he was cursing me in another language."

"Seriously?" she asks, dubious.

"How would I know?" I reply. "Anyway, if you meet them, you might get a kind of idea on why she isn't the easiest person to talk to. Or to become friends with. And even if I _did_ become friends with her, I would never get to be anything more. I think if she doesn't marry a Greek or Italian or whatever her heritage is, her parents would disown her."

"Stereotypical much?" Jess exclaims. "James, you're blowing everything out of proportion! Sure, it could be hard. But then again, it might be really easy. Maybe, if you can just manage to cut out the jokes - "

"And get her to listen to an apology..."

"Then she'll see what a great guy you are," she finishes, ignoring my interruption.

"If I'm such a great guy, then how come we never worked out?" I ask, turning away from my view of the horizon to face my ex-girlfriend.

She grins tightly at me. "Oh, don't you start with that again."

"What? It's a point!"

"It's a lousy point," she counters. "We were all wrong for each other, and we both know it."

I sigh. "Yeah, I know. But the fact remains that if we hadn't broken up, I'd probably never be in this dilemma."

"Ah, the tragic love-life of James Pickles..."

"It is _not_ tragic, thank you very much. It just needs some work."

Jess laughs out loud and slaps me on the shoulder. "Come on, lover boy, let's get down from this roof. It's freezing up here."

I clamber to my feet and offer her a hand. "Alright. You always did have a low threshold for the cold."

"Only because you always hogged the blankets - "

---

"So, let me get this straight. I just sit here, you ask me questions, and I answer them?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Are you going to pay me for this?"

"No."

"Then why should I do it?"

"Because as my cousin you're obliged."

"That sounds like a bit of a raw deal to me."

"You did get your grandmother's edge, didn't you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Rolling in three, two..."

**(3) Carmen Grace Finster (b. 24/10/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)**

"For the purposes of the documentary, please state your full name and details."

"Hi. I'm Carmen Grace Finster. I was born on the 24th of October and I'm an LA native. Go the Kings."

"Don't let Phil and Dil hear you say that."

"Meh, what are they going to do? Anyway, I'm the daughter of Chuckie and Angelica Finster, which means my life kind of resembles a sitcom. You have not experienced humor until you've lived with my Mom and Dad."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not bad, just hilarious. They argue over the silliest things...what else do I need to say?"

"How you're related to me."

"I'm your...what am I? I'm a cousin of some sort. My favourite relative is -"

"Hang on, you're not allowed to play favourites."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair to anyone you say isn't your favourite."

"Oh. Well, alright then. I enjoy dancing - I want to be either a businesswoman or a ballerina when I grow up. Maybe both if I can swing it."

"That'll be a challenge."

"I never back down in the face of a challenge."

"Good to hear. Anything else you'd like to have immortalized on film?"

"Hmm...has anyone told the story about the time you were dancing around the backyard in your underwear yet?"

"Thank you for your time, Carmen."

"Your welcome, James."

"Cut."

"Does that mean we've stopped recording?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"...so...uh...who _is _your favourite relative?"

---

"So, who have you got left to do?" Andy asks me.

I don't normally let him and Cassie hang out in my room, but for the moment I've decided to waive that and let them hang around while I start to splice together my film. That, and it makes me feel slightly less guilty about swiping Andy's copy of Bat Out Of Hell, which is playing at a (relatively) subdued volume.

"Uh..." I ponder the question for a moment, mentally reviewing what I've already shot. "Lou, Phil and Kimi," I narrow down. "I think that's it."

Cassie, who is lying on my bed and flicking through a book, doesn't look up, but does offer, "Saved the hardest for last?"

I shrug. "I dunno. Everyone else - all the adults, anyway - have had some story about something hard they had to get through. I don't know if Phil and Kimi have anything really that qualifies. I mean, have you ever heard them tell any stories about hardships or something?"

Both my siblings offer me blank looks, but Andy quickly points out - "That doesn't necessarily mean anything, though. Just that they might have something they don't like to talk about."

"I guess you'll find out," Cassie says, sort of ending that line of conversation, and going back to her book.

"What are you reading, anyway?" I ask my little sister. Whatever the book is, it's a hardcover she's taken the dust jacket off, and I can't read anything on the cover.

"A Roald Dahl compilation," she tells me. "I felt like being nostalgic."

"The Magic Finger?" I venture.

"The Incredible Mr. Fox," she corrects me.

I always liked that one, actually. Underrated classic. "Ah. Cool, anyway. Shouldn't you be doing homework, anyway?"

She meets my eyes for a second, then looks pointedly at Andy, who is sprawled on the floor and playing Street Fighter 3 on my Dreamcast.

"Point taken," I concede, spinning back to continue fixing up my movie.

---

Jonathan, you rock! please review.


	8. Phil and Kimi: The Miscarriage

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - Alright, the core part of this chapter is going to be familiar to most of you. I wrote this - along with Dil/Amanda's and Tommy/Lil's - flashbacks in January. However, I loved this one so much that I had to turn it into a songfic and publish it then. If you read the fic, it actually notes that it's from Deciduous. But anyway - I hope no-one's too disappointed.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

"You couldn't have done this half an hour later? I'm missing Fuzzy Things."

"Don't they show that in the afternoon, too?"

"Yeah, but everyone else at school will have seen it now!"

"Lou, you'd moan if your...you know what? You whinge a lot, let's just leave it at that."

"Pfft. It's my right. I'm the second youngest. I missed out on being the eternal youth of the group, so I have the right to moan to make myself feel better about it."

"You're insane."

"Could be, could be."

"In three...two...one..."

**(3) Louis Michael Pickles (b. 17/2/-- at San Jose, Calif.)**

"Hi, and welcome to the Pickles Home Shopping Network. I'm Louis Michael Pickles, the Aquarian son of Dil and Amanda Pickles. Do we have a special for you - "

"Lou."

"Yes, that's right, it's just what you've always wanted - a cousin! Comes slightly used but durable."

"Lou."

"But wait, there's more. If you buy now, we will throw in a video camera for free!"

"Lou."

"May require surgical removal from said cousin."

"Lou."

"So, can I go watch my cartoon now?"

---

"Why are we hanging out at the arcade?" Alex asks. He really does look kind of ludicrous. He's wearing a trenchcoat and sunglasses, and is simply oozing 'I don't want to be seen here' from every pore in his body.

"Because I want to play some pool," Luke tells him.

"So deal with it," Jess adds.

I grab a cue off the rack and lean against the nearest wall. "So, everyone else finished their project too?" Jess asks.

"Yeah," Alex says, almost begrudgingly. "Finished it last night. You guys?"

Luke nods, but I shake my head. "I've got to go see Phil and Kimi tonight. They're all I've got left to go. Then I've just got to cut it together."

"You sound like you're putting them off for some reason," Jess observes.

I sigh. "I'm just...well, I'm sort of worried. Or nervous, maybe, is the better way of putting it. What if they aren't the happy couple I always thought they were. Them being upbeat - even when they're fighting - is something I've sort of come to expect. What if that's not how it really is at all?"

Jess shakes her head. "It'll be fine, James. Just remember - even if they have had problems, they've gotten through them. Besides, it wouldn't be your family without your wacky Uncle we all know and love."

"And hate," Alex mutters.

I grin. "I think I just worked out why our dear Alex is such a grump this afternoon." We all, simultaneously, turn to him. "Did Mr. English give you detention."

"No," Alex growls. "He gave me an A for the Macbeth assignment."

We're all temporarily flummoxed. "And..."

"So I ended with an A average! I have to get an award at the final assembly! Do you know how embarassing that is?"

But by this point, no-one's paying any attention to him. We're all rolling on the floor in laughter.

Which probably isn't helping him much.

---

**(2) Phillip Anthony DeVille (b. 31/3/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)  
m. Kimberly Hayoto Watanabe-Finster (b. 7/4/-- at Kyoto, Japan) at Los Angeles, Calif. 30/6/--**

"Well...I hardly know what to ask you guys. Why not just start off with a bit of general 'who you are' knowledge."

"I'm Kimi DeVille, and I'm from Japan and France originally but I've pretty much settled into Californian life over the last...thirty-something years."

"I'm Andross Proton, Supreme Ruler of the Universe. I spent a lot of time in limbo between planets recently but I came down to Earth and made this being my woman - oh, you mean my day job? Oh, I'm Phil DeVille. Never been anywhere interesting, well...not recently. I'm a teacher."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"I try not to. It keeps life interesting if you can laugh."

"Then everyone who listens to your jokes will be enjoying a relaxed existence."

"Um, could I ask you guys not to flirt too much on camera? You're upping the rating of my documentary."

"Oh, sorry James. We wouldn't want to be making any inappropriate jokes about sex now, would we?"

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Nothing, Aunt Kimi. Your husband was just trying to corrupt his students again."

"Always."

"But, really...after your well publicized split up during your teenage years, since you got back together, you've been practically the most stable couple in history. To have something that serious...based on mirth? That's pretty impressive."

"It's not all based on mirth. We just don't show the fact that we have some rough times."

"Really? You just seem...to have had a dream run, so to speak."

"Not really."

---

_I've got the pedal to the metal, as if getting there fast will do any good. It all doesn't matter now. None of it matters, I guess. There was nothing to be done. It just happens, they tell me._

_But I can't believe it. Not now. There must have been something that could be done. Something I can do yet._

_But I should know better._

_The city is a blur around me as I go from one end of it to the other with all the pace I can. My old, battered car is groaning under the abuse, but I don't care. All I can think about is what is at my destination. And thinking about it makes me wonder if I really want to go._

_But I can't not._

_Ever since I answered my mobile phone, everything's been a blur. My student's laughing at me for my phone going off when I've repeatedly told them all they're not to bring them to school themselves. I remember laughing with them before answering the phone. And since then I've gotten halfway across the city, and I don't know how I did it. Because I'm fixed on one thing and one thing alone._

_The buildings cast shadows over me as the glorious sunset tries to penetrate through skyscrapers of the city to the north, struggling to do so. The clouds to the south look fortuitous. And here I am in the middle, going at unsafe speeds as if I could change anything by hurrying._

_I slam into the first parking space I can find, barely remembering to lock the car as I sprint for the horrible doors ahead of me. The building looks down on me as if in disapproval of my actions. The tears are just now starting to prick at my eyes even as the storm finally begins to let loose. I rush through the sliding pieces of glass just as they open to let someone out. I mutter an apology for almost knocking them over, but it's the last thing on my mind at the moment._

_"Kimmi Finster," I gasp to the woman behind the desk, leaning heavily against it to catch my breath, realizing that I've barely stopped to take a gulp of oxygen for almost thirty minutes now. I've been on the adrenaline rush of my life, for all the wrong reasons._

_The receptionist spares me a sorry glance. "She's in room 19."_

_I don't even bother to ask for directions. I just run through the corridors, coat flapping behind me. It falls off in the wind of my sprint and I don't even bother to stop to pick it up. I'm feel like I'm racing death. But I've already lost._

_The tears run hot down my face as I run through this seemingly endless maze of corridors, counting doors under my choked breath. I want to fall down and die on the spot. My body is racked with pain, from a stitch in my side to the gaping hole in my heart._

_I finally reach the door labeled 19 and fling it open, trying not to slam it hard, but the adrenaline is pumping so hard through my body that I struggle not to._

_She's lying there in the bed. Her eyes are devoid of tears. But the tracks down her cheeks let me know that she's just trying to put on a brave face. My fiance, laying before me, sitting up against her pillows. Her hair is down. She never wears it down. A few more tears slip out. I can't seem to find the words I want to say. What can I say?_

_She's staring at me, and my eyes slowly overflow to the point of not being able to contain the tears any longer. I'm clutching at the door as my face grows drenched with saltwater that I shouldn't be shedding. That should never have been induced. This is wrong. It's all wrong. This doesn't happen. Not to us. Not to us._

_I cling to everything I can find in the room as I claw my way across it, not trusting my feet to hold me up. She's watching me, and her breathing is becoming short and shallow. God, I hope she doesn't feel guilty. I couldn't bare it if she did. It's not her fault. Nothing about it is her fault. Nothing. It's no-one's fault. I don't know if that is better or worse than having someone to blame it on._

_I fall into the seat next to the bed, the wind finally collapsing out of me. My body goes practically limp as I raise my head, slowly, to stare into her eyes. Her beautiful eyes, bloodshot with tears recently shed, her face laced with dark scars of regret._

_She doesn't smile. She doesn't frown. She just says, "Probably for the best that we held off on telling everyone, I guess."_

_And then her tears fall._

_There's nothing I can say. There's nothing to say. I climb gently onto the bed and take her in my arms, wrapping her in my embrace. I feel her tears dampening my shirt, and I kiss the top of her head softly through the veil of her hair. My tears fall on her as hers fall on me. I rock her gently, struggling for something to say, something to do to help. But there's nothing._

_So I just sit here. Rocking her quietly, our sobs intermingling and drowned out by the storm outside. Rocking her gently, crying. Holding her close, and never letting her go._

_---_


	9. Deciduous

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - Chapter 9. This chapter is a little strange, and it's actually the last one of the 10 that I wrote - I finished Chapter 10 a few months ago, so expect it in a couple of days. It's a relief to finally be finished this fic, I'll tell you. I thought I was just never going to get there. I hope the first scene works - it was something I really struggled to write but it was one of the first ideas I had while coming up with the concept of this fic. Please review.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

---

I run a hand through my hair. Again.

"Stop doing that, you're going to look like a mess," Mom fusses over me.

I roll my eyes. In my opinion, I very rarely don't look like a mess anyway - for which I can blame Uncle Phil. Someone once told me that, if I did my hair right, I'd look exactly like him with Dil's coloration. I tried it once and decided the resemblance was a little too close for comfort, and therefore have sworn to never, ever do it again.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous," I excuse myself, lazily.

It's only half a lie. I actually am nervous. I don't really do dances or anything. For one thing, I can't dance. And for another, my socializing skills need serious work.

But this might be my last chance to fix things with her. My last chance ever. After tonight, I might never see her again.

And I can't go the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I had never tried.

Andy is leaning against the doorjamb to the living room looking at me with a grin on his face. "Well, well, Mr. Pickles. Don't you look all spiffy." I pit him with a glare but he just continues to smile cockily. "We've got to get pictures of this."

The problem is that Mom probably will.

I like to think that I actually don't look that bad. Well...it's a nice suit, anyway. It's black, mostly, but with a white tie. Formal wear. I just don't think I'll ever get used to it. Good thing I'm not planning on getting married anytime soon. A suit feels bad enough, I certainly am not looking forward to a full fledged penguin setup.

"I think you look dashing," Cassie offers from the couch.

I smile at that, though I realize that it probably doesn't mean much. "Thanks anyway," I tell her.

Mom glares at me, but just says, "Come on, up against the wall. And you look like you're about to throw up."

"I told you I was nervous," I mutter, standing against the nearest wall to let her take my picture.

Just as she's finishing up, Dad dashes into the room. "Sorry I'm late!" he exclaims, grabbing the back of the couch while he tries to catch his breath. "I didn't miss anything, did I?"

"What is there to miss?" I ask exasperatedly.

"How did the family tree project go?" he asks, slinging his backpack onto the couch and digging through it for something.

I raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior but let it slide. "I got a High Distinction for it. It went down a hit."

He nods. "Good. Did anyone on it end up telling the story about you dancing around the backyard in -"

"No, Dad."

"Oh well." He finally seems to find what he was searching for, and withdraws it from the bag. It's a small box with a ribbon wrapped around it. He steps up to Mom and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Look, James, we were going to save this for your 18th birthday, or for Graduation Day, or whatever - but we decided that now was the best time." He sighs, and I see Mom rub his arm seemingly in support. Andy and Cassie have caught on to the fact that whatever's going on is pretty important and both sit up and take notice - Andy drops into Dad's chair and Cassie sits up on the couch.

Dad takes another deep breath. "I should have given you this years ago, I guess. Grandpa gave it to me when I was one, when Dil was born. I didn't understand what it meant at the time, of course. But...all this family tree stuff that you've been doing lately...it's gotten me thinking about family, and what we share and everything. And...as much as I want to, I don't think I can put off giving you this any longer."

He hands me the box, and I can notice a tear in his left eye. Which strikes me as slightly odd - I don't think I've ever seen Dad cry, except when Cassie was born, and he was worried that she and Mom might die.

I untie the ribbon carefully and lift the lid off gently.

Inside is a pocket watch. It's shiny and very evidently well cared for - and restored, recently, by the looks of it. I flick it open and look at the pictures inside. There are three, in total - one in the case, and two back to back in a page - one of me, Andy and Cassie when we were younger, about the age that Dad was on the road most of the time. The second is one of Phil, Kimi, Dad, Mom, Chuckie, Angelica, Dil, Amanda and...Suzie. It's in a park somewhere, but it's too small to tell where, or when. The last is one I realize that I've never seen before - it's of Dad, Dil, Grandpa and...my great-grandfather, it takes me a moment to work out.

It then dawns on me that this watch must have belonged to my great-grandfather, which would explain why Dad is so choked up over it. All I know of Great-Grandpa is that he died before I was born, before Dad and Mom were married. But I know that he and Dad were really, really close, and that - while he tells anecdotes about our family patriarch, it's always done with a sadness lingering in the back of his eyes. This thing must mean a lot to him, and I instantly realize just how much this watch means.

"That belonged to my father, and his father before him," Dad confirms my silent revelation. "It's very old, and it means a lot. And it's yours. It's a part of this family, and some day you're going to give it to your son, too. I hope you learned how strong this family is during your project, James. I hope you found out that we're a very close group of people who, despite all our flaws, love each other very much."

I literally can't speak. I've never seen my father so emotional. I can see Mom rubbing his back in support while he continues to struggle against tears. I step up to him and wrap him up in a hug that he's too stunned to respond to for a moment. "Thanks, Dad," I manage.

He nods against me and when I pull back I'm happy to see him smiling.

I grin and look down at my jacket. "Oh, look, you've crinkled my nice new suit."

---

I'm still checking my jacket pocket for the reassuring weight of the watch as I sit at my table, trying to eat but at the same time trying not to look too much like I want to eat. It's an etiquette thing. It drives me up the wall.

The one thing that makes me feel safe is the knowledge that no-one is watching me. No, everyone is watching the teacher's table, where Phil is making one hell of a racket, telling jokes - most of them probably inappropriate - and acting slightly tipsy. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if Aunt Kimi was going to have to cart his carcass home in their station wagon come the end of the night.

I've thankfully avoided dancing thus far tonight. There was, however, very nearly casualties when Phil insisted that he had to get a photo of me and Sophie standing next to each other, as proof that "it was possible to put us in the same room as knives and have both of us escape intact".

I'm never going to forgive the sneaky bugger.

"If we could just have your attention," Rheese calls from the stage at the head of the dancefloor, a grin on her face suggesting she might be slightly merry. Of course, she's only been drinking softdrinks, so I don't know how she managed that.

Not that I don't have my theories.

"We would now like to hand out some awards," she tells us, "so stay seated and shut up."

We have a brief chuckle at that, and Jess and I exchange glances of amusement across the table before turning back to face the lectern again.

"First up, the award for 'Sexiest Female'. Our nominees were..." she reads her sheet, then reads it again - out of disbelief or blurred vision, I'm not sure. "Jessica Mathieson, Rhonda Porter and Rheese Green."

I still can't believe that's really her name.

"And the winner is...Jessica Mathieson."

Rheese sounds put out, but Jess just gets up, throws her hair back and grins cockily, and strides to the stage very provocatively. Our entire table - mostly males: me, Alex, Luke, Wayne, Matt and just Belinda as our other female representative - applauds the loudest.

The rest of the individual awards go quietly by, except for when I won the "Most Opinionated" award with no-one else even nominated. No surprises there. Phil wins all the teacher awards, from "Best Dressed", to "Funniest" to just plain "Best". I won't be able to shut him up about it for months.

But then...

"And our final award for the night," Rheese, by now sounding _very_ tipsy, to the point that I'm not convinced she's not just faking it, "is the 'Get Together Already!' Award."

And my stomach plummets several metres.

"We only had the one nominee for this one," Rheese tells us, "because everyone other than the couple involved evidently thought the same thing. So, please, welcome to the stage the winners of our 'Get Together Already' Award..."

Oh no...

"James and Sophie!"

Our eyes instantly meet across the room and I swear I can see her trying to kill me with her mind. Neither of us move. Maybe if we just sit still enough, it'll all go away.

The rest of our graduating class, however, aren't falling for that trick. Alex and Matt, laughing and cheering to a point of being deafening, are physically hauling me out of my seat. I see her friends doing the same to her across the room, and they more-or-less drag us to the stage, depositing us unceremoniously next to each other in front of Rheese. I look out over the crowd and I have this eerie feeling like I'm at my own wedding.

Rheese smiles very sinisterly at us before handing us our certificate. "Good luck, lovebirds," she mutters to us, out of the mic's range, before screaming, "Kiss!" into the mic.

My eyes widen as I watch and hear the rest of the crowd - including my treacherous friends - join in the chant.

But, no matter how frightened the concept made me, I'm still somehow disappointed when Sophie turns away and walks - no, flees - back to her own table without a backward glance.

---

I'm sitting at our table, watching everyone - all my friends, my classmates, my colleagues - dance happily on the wooden floor in front of me. They're having a great time, and while part of me is, another part of me isn't. The unfortunate part of me that has a perchance for sulking miserably in corners.

Jess kisses Alex on the cheek and comes back over to the table to sit down opposite me with a strange look on her face. I'm not quite sure what it means. And I thought I'd seen all of Jess' facial expressions.

It becomes something of a game between us. To see which happens first - she says something, or I crack from her staring at me.

Neither, it turns out. Because, just as I was about to say something, she rises from her seat, grabs me by an arm, and bodily drags me onto the floor.

"Hey, I was - "

"Keeping the seat warm?" she quips, forcing me to start dancing. I dredge up a dance that Mom taught me years ago and manage (mostly) to move to the music.

"I don't like dancing."

"I remember," she tells me. "But I had to do something to get your mind off her. You know, I could swear you were almost disappointed when she didn't kiss you before."

Damn. I thought I'd hidden it better than that.

"You might have hidden it from everyone else," she intrudes on my thoughts, "but not from me. I know you too well, Jimmy."

I sigh. "I'm not in love with her. I don't even _like_ her, like her."

Jess shakes her head at me. "That's the thing - I think you do. I think she's just crept in on you. You didn't realize it. Maybe you didn't want to. But it's what's happened all the same."

"What difference does it make? She'll never speak to me tonight. And after tonight, she'll just disappear forever, and that'll be that."

Jess gives me a tight little smile that I learned long ago meant she was up to no good. "You might be surprised."

I arch a suspicious eyebrow at her. "What's that meant to mean?"

Her smile doesn't twitch. "Let's just say I've got operatives working the crowd. Anyway, James, I think you've got to remember that the point of tonight is to have some fun. Don't think too much about what has or hasn't happened. Just...enjoy yourself. You don't do that enough."

I sigh, but she's got a point. I could probably do with a bit of a good time every now and then.

So, with that in mind, I dance with her, not letting the rest of the world trouble me, not thinking about anything else.

But, against my will, I'm not surprised to notice that my eyes keep seeking Sophie out in the crowd.


	10. James and Sophie: New Morning

**Deciduous  
**Acepilot

AN - This is the end. We've had everyone else's stories, now we get James'. After all, as Phil said, everyone in the family has a story to tell. I hope you guys have all enjoyed the Road series' longest piece, and I hope you all keep reading it after this is done. Please review!

This fic was started on January 24th 2005 and was finished on October 4th 2005. Thanks for all who pushed me along for the ride.

Disclaimer - see chapter 1.

----

Dew already seems to be settling on the ground all around me as I walk quietly through the park, on my way back to the car park. You can just tell some loon with a thing for "pretty starry nights" has been let loose on this place. Every tree seems to be laced with fairy lights to the point where the park right glows with some kind of sickening romanticism.

I'm left to ponder the last pieces of sage advice offered to me by my friends, their words running through my head as I try to work out what the hell I'm meant to do next. Make amends? I've been trying to make amends for months. But I messed up so badly, sent everything spiraling so far downhill, that I've got no way to do so. She won't listen to me, and she's right not to.

So I'm left to wander alone through the "pretty, starry night", my hands tucked in my pockets, gazing at the night sky - both he artificial and the real - and ponder what I've brought myself to.

Have I really messed up anything? It's not like I really knew her. It's not like I'm in love with her, or even like her. Then why does this hurt so much? Why does it feel like I've messed up something really significant? Why do I feel...like I lost someone so important to me that I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life?

I step out of the more open area near the banks of the lake and into the cavernous trees, similarly laced with lights to give the impression of the night sky. It's kind of endearing, I guess, and it does lend me some light to see by, not that that's saying much.

Maybe it's all just because it's the end of an era. I'll probably fall out of contact with most of these people from high school - no matter how good my intentions are to keep track of them, to remain friends. Odds are, it just won't happen.

That's really sad, in a way. I mean, these people have been a daily part of my life for so many years. We shouldn't fall out of contact.

Maybe that's just a thing done by lazy people. Maybe we'll stay friends. Luke, Jess, Alex and me. We're really close. I don't want to fall out with them, so maybe I'll work hard enough to make sure I don't.

But the odds aren't good. And maybe that's why this thing with Sophie matters so much.

Of all the people in my graduating class, she's the only one that I know dislikes me. And, though I may never see her again, I'd rather have her remember me as a friend, rather than as the moron who inadvertently picked on her for the last two years of her high school life.

You know, there's a saying - "You wouldn't care what people thought of you if you realized how little they actually did." And it's completely true. The fact is, Sophie probably doesn't think of me at all. And she probably never will again.

But I have this nagging feeling it won't be that easy for me.

I step lightly along the paving-stone path, breathing in the night air and listening to the park's nocturnal animals scurrying about. I always did like the outdoors. Maybe I should get a job doing something outside, instead of the indoor job I'm almost inevitably going to end up at.

With that thought, something clicks deep inside me and I wonder for a moment at my own stupidity. I'm about to cross out into the big, wide world and I still don't really know what I'm going to _do_ when I get there. And I really should. Instead, I'm worrying about a girl who I will never see again, who will never think of me again, and trying to convince her that I'm not that bad a guy.

I had never realized before just how important this was to me. To the point that I'm willing to put so much aside for a chance to make amends with her.

I finally break through the undergrowth and into the car-park. I almost trip over a tree root and stagger slightly onto the asphalt. Then I break into a real stagger as I see the small but intimidating figure of Sophie standing before me with a glint in her eye.

"Alright," she announces without preamble. "What do you want to say?"

I see Matt give me a thumbs up over her shoulder as I regain my footing. He jumps in the car waiting for him and they take off into the night. I draw my attention back to Sophie. "I thought you'd gone already."

"I was going to," she tells me. "What did you want to say to me?"

I take a deep breath. I have this all planned. I know exactly what I want to say, what I've wanted to say from the start.

But then, I realize that it won't mean anything.

"I had a speech prepared," I tell her. "I would, wouldn't I? But...well, I don't think it's any good. So I'm just going to try and say this all straight up."

She nods but doesn't comment.

"I'm...I'm _sorry_," I declare. "You see, I didn't know you weren't getting the joke until it was too late. I didn't want to hurt you, Sophie, and I'm sorry that I did. It was just...meant to be funny."

"It wasn't," she states, matter-of-factly.

"I know," I concede. "I know. I was...I didn't notice how you felt. I just...well, I thought you got it. I thought you knew I was kidding."

"If you were kidding, then why did you always sound so serious?"

I sigh. "My ability to hide sarcasm is better than most."

Her eyes haven't dropped the glare she's been giving me for what seems like months now. "You said some things that really hurt me."

"And I'm sorry. And given another chance, I wouldn't have done it. I would have just...I would have tried to get to know you differently." I struggle to find the words I'm trying so hard to say. I can't quite meet her eye for eye anymore, and I have to turn my head to the side and watch the glittering display of lights. "I'm a very verbal person. When I'm trying to get to know a person, I need to be able to exchange some kind of words with them. I need a reaction out of them. The only thing that ever gave me a reaction with you was...well, bantering, jokes." She goes to say something else, but I cut her off. "I never meant to - or wanted to - hurt your feelings, you've got to understand that."

I feel her eyes burning holes in the side of my head. "So that's your excuse?"

"Not my excuse, my reason." I shake my head and finally turn to face her once more. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I just...I want another chance to prove to you that I'm not that bad a guy. That I was just a little...misguided."

And with that she walks away, not looking back.

And I become increasingly aware that I've lost.

All this effort to make things right, all these attempts to make her see that all I ever wanted was to be friends with her, it was all for naught. I check my watch and notice that it's well and truly after midnight - Dad should be here by now. I wonder vaguely what's keeping him.

A strange car pulls up into the lot, but I recognize Sophie's mother in the driver's seat. She gets up from where she sat around the fountain and walks toward it, but I notice with a fleeting hope that her eyes keep darting back in my direction.

She leans in to the window and exchanges brief words with her mother. And then, to my everlasting surprise, she turns around and walks toward me. Slowly, almost hesitantly, but with a definite, almost defiant, stride in her walk. She closes the distance between us quite quickly, looking shaky and nervous but determined.

"Alright," she says. "You get another chance." She hands me a piece of paper. "Give me a call, if you promise not to tease me."

I nod. "Of course."

I feel like I should say more, but I'm paralyzed by shock. And, at any rate, she's gone in an instant, disappearing back to the car that has come to pick her up, which pulls out of the parking lot and drives away. I don't let it out of my sight until it turns the corner and disappears.

And then I yell for joy, very loudly, very ecstatically, and dance around the abandoned parking lot with a grin on my face and a song in my heart. I bounce off signposts and very nearly fall in the fountain. But I don't care.

She forgave me.

When Dad finally does pull up, I'm still grinning like a maniacal idiot. "Have a good night?"

I lean back in the front seat and smile. "Best night of my life to date."

And we drive home with the vision of a girl who I never realized meant so much to me dancing in my head.

**(3) James Stuart Pickles (b. 26/6/-- at Los Angeles, Calif.)**

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thank you to all who read. Now...please review!


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